"Face forward, captive," I hiss.
Azalea raises his bound hands in surrender. "I will, Captor, if you'll indulge me."
"It's Socculus to you." I'm nearly snapping again.
"But I prefer Lust. I say what I want."
In as much as I feel like I want to hear him talk, it's needful that he remains silent so I can maintain the codes that I'm supposed to, and not keep my prisoner entertained.
"I need a mouth gag, Loka!" I shout to the girl who's now way in front of us.
Azalea laughs as I sense his eyes go down on my body. "You need no material gag when you have the most enticing lips to seal mine."
I realize his gaze is stuck on my boobs.
In truth, I myself have dressed rather too inappropriate for someone going to battle when—of course—my cleavages are too exposed.
My thighs are peeking out through my satin material as well. But those are normal for Firnes.
It's in our nature to be clad in skimps; mostly a thin satin cloth worn around the bust area, and another wrapping the thighs and butt. This exposes most parts of our body.
Loka's, however, is worse. Her nipples are protruding through the cloth and if she lifts her leg even a little, one can see her privacy winking at them.
In contrast to ours, Azalea's attire is moderate; not fit for a witch master though.
His skinny jean outlines his thick thighs. On top it is a sky blue button shirt with sleeves grasped by his arms. Sleeves that I badly wish he had rolled up.
The shirt buttons are fighting to keep his chest within the cloth. But it would seem his huge form has other intentions.
I grab his arm and push him forward once again. "Move it!" He shouldn't be looking like me I'm a slut craving attention.
We've walked a long way in the Forests of Oaks before Azalea's sluggishness gets worse. And Loka is nowhere to be found.
"You do realize a slave deserves to rest, right?" the witch says while craning his neck to look over his shoulders at me.
I refuse to meet his stare. But I do observe him with my side-eye. "You'll rest once you keep your trap shut."
Azalea huffs. "Please…" he whispers, still walking slowly in front of me.
I stop moving. It won't hurt anyone if we all take a break, yeah?
"Stop," I mumble.
Azalea instantly slumps to a sitting position on the ground, groaning out his exhaustion, while I walk past him to lean against an Oak tree next to him.
He analyses me before mumbling, "A captor can grow tired too." I look away from him. "Come on now. You cannot say you don't long to sit right next to me."
"No, I don't."
Azalea suddenly sits up. Looking at him now, he doesn't seem like he was tired at all.
"You've been avoiding my gaze since we met. Is there something wrong with my eyes?" he asks as he stands in front of me.
His height is intimidating. Too intimidating that I start to feel like I'm shrinking where I stand.
And I'm still not looking at him. Instead, I stare over his shoulder at a duo of birds perching an oak branch.
Azalea holds my chin with his index and thumb fingers before turning my head to his direction, yet my eyes remain astray.
"You seriously don't wanna look at me, huh? Does my stare sting that much?"
I still do not look at him.
Then, the next moment, he leans forward, tilting a bit downward to my size.
His face draws closer to mine, and my heart skips a bit. I don't know why it did. It's not supposed to.
Now I'm left marveled at how my shrinking self serves Azalea the daring attitude he displays now.
He keeps coming near—attempting to exhaust every damn inch between us—until Loka bursts out of nowhere with an urgent message.
"They're here, sister! The bastards are here! Party time… ho ho ho!"
The girl skips off while I push Azalea backward and slip out of his front, looking around as the noise of crunching leaves fill the woods.
There's a crowd of people rushing toward us, and we're just about to find out who they are.
I catch Loka standing behind me the next moment. Our legs are in position, but our hands remain by our sides. Yet, it doesn't mean they won't go straight into our attackers' chests when they have to.
Azalea, on the other hand, is flanked between us. He won't try to run when I'm tightly holding the chain connecting his cuffs and my wrist.
He just looks around as air whooshes past us, the sound of stomping feet getting closer.
Then the intruders burst out of the dark woods.
It's no surprise to know they're Azalea's loyalists. I was a fool to undermine the kind of faithful dogs he has trained to grovel at his feet—to the point that they even track him to the infamous Forest of Oaks to challenge two Firnes; for that matter.
"These folks have ticked their deaths already," Loka shouts above the hubbub, affirming my own thoughts.
They will die here today.
I close my eyes to embrace the full darkness dwelling behind my shut eyelid.
The only thing I register now is the yelling crowd. Followed by harsh wind. Then there's the chain grazing my wrist as a sign of Azalea's small movements.
In all, I smell death.